


Oh, God, Not Another High School Movie

by zoe19blink



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Bromance, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 15:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5591287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoe19blink/pseuds/zoe19blink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by all the cliche high school movies, in which the desperately-trying-to-be-cool Killian Jones fears his life is turning into one of those high school movies as he gets swept up in the misadventures with other Storybook teenagers. With his best friend, Neal, and his decidedly-less-best friend,Emma, he navigates the mysteries of the drama club (ooh...) and attempts to get Ruby Lucas to date him. BROMANCE AHEAD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Neal Cassidy was the most popular boy in school; which was why it was odd that his best friend was Killian Jones—the most _un_ popular boy in school.

Killian was the kid who sat in the back of the class, trying to look edgy with his black clothes and thick eyeliner, propping his feet up on the desk in front of him. When he spoke, he tried to sound mysterious and deep, spouting random quotes from pretentious writers and using words like, “fugue”. Perhaps the most irritating thing about him was the way he stared at people, as though he knew all their secrets just by looking at them, and seemed to think it made him insightful.

It did not.

Neal, on the other hand, was the easygoing guy who managed to be friends with everyone. He could remember the little details about people’s lives, and often checked in for updates. He was pretty smart, friendly, and really just a genuinely nice guy. And probably the best thing about Neal Cassidy was that he wasn’t annoyingly perfect, and owned it. 

Neal was definitely _not_ the strongest writer; nor was he a particularly good artist; and the fact that his stepfather was the principal made things a bit tense, especially since he occasionally got sent down there accompanied by a certain Mr. Jones. But it seemed to endear him to everyone even more that he wasn’t impossibly good.

Like _Graham._

Graham Hunter. The boy all the other boys hated, and all the girls loved. He was ridiculously good-looking, with top marks across the board; involved in all sorts of charities and volunteer opportunities; head of Student Council, on the soccer team, first violin in the school orchestra (there was even a rumor going around that he was applying to _Juliard_ ). And worst of all, he was the nicest person in the world: he made Mary Poppins look like a cold-hearted, Nazi bitch.

That was really the reason why Killian had been forced to punch him in the cafeteria. See, he was doing that infuriating thing where he smiled and said, “Hey, Killian. How’s your day going?”, like he was _actually_ interested in how his day was going, even though he couldn’t possibly interested in his day, because Killian wasn’t friends with Graham. A few sarcastic replies later, Killian was being escorted to Mr. Gold’s office by a disgruntled Mr. Booth, his fist still throbbing from slamming it into Graham’s jaw.

“I was starting to worry,” Mr. Gold said dryly, as Killian took a seat across the desk. “I haven’t seen you down here in a month, I thought something had happened to you.”

“Graham Hunter is an insufferable little shit,” Killian said without preamble.

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “And how did he offend you, that he deserved a punch in the jaw? Because from what Mr. Booth told me—” he pretended to consult a piece of paper—“he politely greeted you, and attempted to engage in friendly conversation.”

“Well, when you put it like _that,_ ” Killian huffed, folding his arms. 

“Do you have another way of putting it?”

“Yes, that was what I lead with: ‘Graham Hunter is an insufferable little shit’.”

Gold smiled humorlessly. “There’s that razor-sharp wit.”

“All right, look,” Killian sighed, leaning forward to put his elbows on the desk. “The truth is…I’m having problems at home, and I’m acting out.”

“And what problems would those be?”

Killian pretended to be overcome with emotion to give himself time to think. “My brother died,” he said tearfully, drawing his finger (carefully) under his eyelinered eye. “Just last week.”

Gold raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Liam?”

“Yes,” he wept, hiding his face in his sleeve.

“Who just called me this morning, asking for a letter of recommendation?”

Killian froze. “Uh…”

“Look, Jones, the issues behind your pathological lying are between you and your therapist. All you need to know is, I’m not going to tolerate _it_ or violence in my school.” Gold fixed him with a stern look. “Do you understand?”

“No. Perhaps if you try it in French?” Killian’s smile faded as Gold’s frowned deepened. “Too soon?”

“Too soon.”

“Hmm.”

“Clearly, endless detention doesn’t work with you,” Gold said, moving papers around his desk importantly. “So, you’re going to spend your otherwise useless detention hours doing something productive.” He flashed him a sarcastic smile. “You get to help out the drama club.”

“I can’t act,” Killian said quickly.

“You were pretty convincing in the role of ‘Grieving Brother’ a few minutes ago,” Gold smirked. “But you misunderstand me, Jones. You will not be gracing the theater world with your presence. You’re just helping out backstage.”

“Oh.” Killian shrugged. It could have been worse, he supposed. “And how long am I helping out backstage, exactly?”

“As long as they need,” Gold said. “Apparently, _the arts_ are very important,” he added with an eye-roll. 

And that was how Killian Jones, the most unpopular boy in school, found himself in the theater after school: holding a dripping paintbrush as Emma Swan lazily explained the secret inner workings of the Drama Club.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

When the bell rang at 2:45, there was a rush of students scrambling out the door, their backpacks slung over their shoulders as they raced out of the prison that had held them captive for seven hours. Killian took his time: he still had another hour and a half in said prison. 

Neal nodded a few farewells to random friends, then approached Killian with a sympathetic smile on his face. “Sucks, man,” he said, stopping in front of his desk. “But we can hang out later, if you want.”

“If I haven’t killed myself by then,” he said, rolling his eyes as he swung himself out of the desk chair and walked to the door with Neal. “Bye, Ms. Blanchard.”

“Bye, boys,” the English teacher said, smiling at them. She was an impossibly good person: sweet, warm, kind-hearted…a real pain in the ass, in Killian’s opinion. She reminded him too forcibly of Graham—that insufferable little shit.

“All righty,” Neal breathed out when they reached the doors to the theater. He clapped Killian on the back, smiling.“Have fun in hell.”

“Tell your stepdad he _sucks!_ ” Killian called after him, tugging open the doors. Neal turned around, walking backwards, to give him an affirmative thumbs-up.

With a heavy groan, Killian slouched into the theater, rolling his eyes at the various kids running about in costumes while others balanced set-design materials in buckets and on ladders. Mr. Spencer, the theater teacher, was snoring as he reclined in one of the cushioned seats, his feet propped up on the one in front of it. 

Killian stopped in front him, raising his eyebrows. Mr. Spencer snored on. After a minute, he tried clearing his throat. 

“ _Yeeaahhh…_ that’s not going to work,” a girl’s voice said behind him. 

Killian turned around to see a blonde girl detach herself from a small group of set-design kids and walk authoritatively toward him. He raised an eyebrow at her clear attempt at a punk-rock-look: torn jeans, fishnet arm warmers, and eyeliner heavier than his.

“He’s usually out for the whole rehearsal,” she said. “The only time he wakes up is if someone brings pizza. I’m Emma, by the way.”

“I’m being punished.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Wow. That’s really clever. See—” she took a step toward him, chuckling slightly—“it’s _funny_ , ’cause that would have been the part where you said your name. Except you said you were being punished.” She smiled as though she really didn’t think it was very funny at all.

“I’m Killian,” he said, adjusting the strap on his backpack. He resisted the urge to add, _and I’m an alcoholic._

“Super,” she said dryly. “And just so you know, that’s a really pretentious name.”

He frowned. “Could be worse. I could be an Avril-Lavigne-wannabe.”

Emma pulled her lips back in a humorless smile. “But that would clash with your GreenDay-fanboy-look.”

Killian was saved the trouble of thinking of a comeback, because at that moment, the doors to the theater burst open and Neal came jogging up to them, waving something in his hand.

“Hey,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath as he caught up to them. He turned to Killian, dropping something in his hand. “You forgot your phone.”

“Oh, shit,” Killian said, turning it over in his hands. “What, in Blanchard’s?”

“No, you never picked it up after Booth confiscated it in History,” Neal said. “I just remembered as I was passing by his room on my way out.” He glanced over at Emma, who was looking at him with a strange look on her face, and smiled. “Hey.”

Emma raised her hand, slowly moving her fingers. Killian raised an eyebrow, watching her quizzically, then exchanged a glance with Neal. 

“Well, thanks,” he said, shoving the phone in his pocket. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance you want to stay and keep me company?”

Neal sucked in a breath. “ _Tempting,_ but I can’t…I have way more fun things to do. Like stabbing a steak knife in my brain.”

“And going home to tell your stepdad he sucks, I hope?”

Neal grinned. “That, too.”

“All right,” Killian said, waving his hand wearily. “Go. Go be a free man. I’ll just waste away and wallow in my misery here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Neal nodded. “See you later?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “Liam might want to indulge in one of his bitch-fests tonight. I might not have time.”

“Well, if Liam ends his bitch-fest early, I’ll see you at Granny’s,” Neal promised. He gave Emma a brief smile, and turned around to walk back out of the theater.

Emma watched him go wordlessly; but the minute the door closed behind him, she rounded on Killian, gripping his wrists. “You know Neal Cassidy?” she said in a demanding voice.

Killian could only gasp in pain, his eyes watering.

Emma loosened her grip, her eyes still furtively searching his. “Do you know Neal Cassidy?” she repeated.

“Of course I know him, he’s my best friend!” he snapped. “Get off me, woman!”

Emma released one wrist, but she tightened her hold on the other to yank him over to her group, not even glancing back as he nearly tripped from her fast pace.

“Do you know who this is?” she hissed, shaking his arm.

“Liza Minnelli?” the blonde boy said dryly. 

“He’s Neal Cassidy’s best friend,” Emma said, as though he hadn’t spoken.

“What are you, his fan club?” Killian scowled, tugging his arm out of Emma’s grip. “What the hell is…?”

It wasn’t that he had been rendered incapable of speaking because of the sheer beauty of the tall brunette girl looking at him through half-lidded blue eyes. Killian had fully intended to end his sentence like that. It was clearly a diction choice on his part. It had nothing to do with the way the girl tossed her long hair effortlessly over her shoulder, because that would have been severely uncool if he had been struck dumb just because of how some girl twirled her hair—and Killian Jones was nothing if not _cool._

And when he stood there, gaping at her with his mouth open, that _again_ was simply because he felt like standing with his mouth open. Pfft. Purely intentional.

Emma frowned at him, waving her hand in front of his face, snapping her fingers. He blinked a few times.

“Do you think you stop drooling all over the floor? This is a walkway, someone could get hurt.”

“Excuse me?” he scoffed.

“I said, do you think—”

“Yes, I _heard_ you, thanks,” he said through clenched teeth, feeling his ears burn. Emma grinned.

“Oh, look, guys, he’s blushing,” she said, pointing at him. The goddess rolled her eyes and leaned against the back of a seat, while the blonde boy looked at him as though he were a hair he’d found in his food.

“Who are you again?” he asked, wrinkling his nose distastefully.

“I told you, he’s Neal Cassidy’s best friend,” Emma said before he could answer. “He’s got some pretentious name, like—I don’t know— _Gideon,_ or something.”

“It’s actually ‘Killian’—”

“This is Victor, and this is Ruby,” Emma said, slinging her arms around her friends. “Gideon’s joining the Drama Club, guys.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s _Killian,_ ” he said loudly. “And second, I am most definitely not joining the Drama Club.” He shrugged, folding his arms and leaning against the seat in his best James Dean impression. “Only reason I’m here is ’cause Gold says detention doesn’t work on me.”

He’d been hoping for some exchange of awed looks, or jaws dropping, or perhaps even Ruby launching herself at him so they could ride off into the sunset on his extremely badass motorcycle. 

What he actually got was the three of them crinkling their brows, looking highly unimpressed.

“How do you struggle with detention?” Victor asked. “It’s literally just sitting there and doing nothing.”

Killian fought to keep the smirk on his face from fading. “Whatever,” he said, shifting his gaze to the side, as though he were bored beyond comprehension.

“Victor, come on, we should get back to painting that stupid balcony,” Ruby said, straightening up. Victor allowed her to tug him away, smiling at Killian derisively. Killian kept his gaze fixed on the heavily snoring Mr. Spencer until he could no longer hear their footsteps. 

“Come on,” Emma said, pulling him by the wrist again. “I’ll get you started.”

“Started on what?” He struggled to keep up with her long strides as she lead him to the stage, where several kids were working on painting various backgrounds.

“You can work on the trees with me,” Emma said, swinging herself onto the stage, and grabbing a bucket of green paint. “Sit over there,” she ordered, pointing. “I’ll go find us some paintbrushes.”

She returned shortly, with one paintbrush tucked behind her ear; the other, she tossed to him. “So,” she said, easing herself down to a kneeling position.

“So.” He glumly dipped his paintbrush in the green paint, and stared at the board. He had no idea how to paint trees. “I need instructions.”

“Just…paint.”

“ _How?_ ”

“Up and down? I don’t know,” Emma shrugged, slapping some paint on the board. Killian watched her with raised eyebrows: she didn’t seem to be following any sort of form or pattern, or using any sort of technique. She was just randomly moving her brush across the board.

“Do you even know how to paint?” he asked.

“Nope.”

Killian blinked a few times. “ _Okay…_ ” he said slowly. Emma looked over, noting his hesitation.

“If you want, you can just sit and talk to me while I do it,” she offered. 

“I can do that,” he shrugged, tossing the brush down. “So, Emma.”

“So, Gideon.”

“Killian, actually.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s not, but okay.” Killian tapped his fingers on the floor. “So…what’s the story with you and Cassidy?”

“Oh, I’m going to marry him,” she said matter-of-factly, shrugging. 

He stared at her for a long time, slowly raising his eyebrows. “And is Neal aware of this?”

“Not yet,” she said absently, leaning back to appraise her work. 

He stared at her again, waiting for her to offer some sort of explanation, but she didn’t; she just busied herself with dabbing more paint on her brush.

“So, how long is Gold making you stay?” she asked as she splashed some more paint on the trees, which bore very little resemblance to any trees _he’d_ ever seen.

“He didn’t specify,” Killian said, picking up the paintbrush to color in the soles of his shoes. “But you’ll probably be seeing my beautiful face for a while.”

“I’ll be sure to inform my diary,” Emma said, looking at him seriously. He looked back, equally serious.

“Be sure that you do.”

She was supposed to giggle at that part, and shake her head at his shenanigans, all the while peeking up at him from under her eyelashes. She didn’t.

She simple blinked at him, and turned back to her trees. “Clearly you like Ruby,” she said abruptly. Killian stared at her with wide eyes as she continued in a carrying voice that she may or may not have realize was catching the attention of the boy painting beside them. “I mean, you were pathetically obvious about it. It was actually pretty sad.” She glanced at his horrorstruck face and raised her eyebrows. “Something wrong?”

“Could you keep your voice down?” he hissed “You’re kind of broadcasting to the entire room.”

Emma rolled her eyes with her whole head. “Fine. We’ll go somewhere else.” She stood up, tossing the paintbrush in the can, apparently not caring as it sank into the green paint and disappeared. “Hey, Will,” she said to the boy who’d been listening. “Me and Gideon are going backstage.”

Will nodded, and continued working on the town square, painting in a cobblestone street. Emma motioned for Killian to follow her through a maze of wooden planks and buckets of paint, with bits of costume dangling from various edges and half-built structures obstructing the path. 

“Here we go,” she said lightly, arriving at a ratty old couch with holes and shoes scuffs all over it. She settled in, curling her legs up to rest her elbows on her knees, and studied him as he sat down, grimacing at the state of the couch. 

“What is it that we’re doing?” he asked, sitting on as little of the couch as humanly possible. 

Emma waved a hand, smiling. “Hanging out? I don’t know.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have sets to paint?”

“They’ll get done,” she said, sounding supremely unconcerned. “No one really cares that much. I mean, you saw Spencer, that should give you some idea of how things work around here.”

“Then… what do you do here?” Killian asked, feeling confused. “Is this just a big hang-out joint, where you sometimes eat pizza and paint stuff?”

“Look, half of them are only here so they have an extra slot filled on their college applications,” Emma said. “And the other half…” She waved her hand vaguely. “Who knows?”

“So…” He rested his elbows on the couch, cocking his head. “Why are you here?”

“Pizza, mostly,” she said, in the same serious tone as before. Killian wasn’t sure if that was her sense of humor, or if she genuinely cared so deeply for pizza.

“Pizza’s a good motivator,” he agreed, nodding slowly. 

“Plus, theater has the _best_ social drama—no pun intended, but you can laugh anyway—I’ve ever seen. And Ruby’s told me every last scrap of cheerleader drama.” Emma grinned. “Theater still wins.”

He had consciously prevented himself from sitting up when she said “cheerleader”, and now scrambled to change the subject. “How long have you been planning your wedding to my best friend, then?”

“Uh— only since the sixth _grade,”_ she scoffed. 

Killian raised his eyebrows. He knew that Neal didn’t go unnoticed among the female population, but he’d always assumed that Graham Hunter would have been the one that girls like Emma (meaning, weird and possibly crazy) would have swooned over for years. 

She seemed to read that in his expression because she added, “Graham’s super-hot and everything, but I don’t really go for the golden-boy-type.”

“I don’t care for him, myself,” Killian said. “Actually, he’s the reason I’m stuck here. I punched him.” He smirked, waiting for her approval.

“Well, that was rude.”

The smirk slid off his face. “I thought—?”

“I said, I don’t go for the golden-boys, not _death to the golden-boys_ ,” she said, frowning. “What’s your problem?”

He could have told her the truth: that Graham was infuriatingly nice, and Killian had a very low threshold for infuriatingly nice people. But after all, this _was_ Theater, and when in Rome…

“I don’t like rules,” he shrugged, leaning back to play up the bad-boy image (if only he had a cigarette to put between his teeth right now!). “As the poet said—”

“And I’m going to stop you right there,” Emma cut in. “Look, the ‘mysteriously deep bad boy’ vibe you’re trying to pull off _really_ isn’t your color.”

He crinkled his brow. “Huh?”

“It’s kind of douchey, actually,” she told him. “And Ruby doesn’t even _like_ bad boys.” She flashed him a smug smile. “She likes golden boys.”

“Awesome.” Because he needed another reason to hate Graham.

“ _Awwww,_ ” she said, laughing a little. “That’s so cute. You’re all sad now.” She reached over to pat his shoulder, smiling sympathetically. “Hey, tell you what—I’ll make it up to you. Me, Ruby, and Victor are getting a bite at Granny’s later. You want to come with?”

Killian blinked. He was still trying to decide whether or not he liked Emma. She seemed to change directions with a dizzying speed: one minute, sarcastic and biting; the next, sweet and friendly. “Uh…”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” she urged. “Besides, if you’re going to be here for a while, wouldn’t it be nice to have some friends to slack off with?”

“You want to be my _friend_?” he said incredulously. “I thought I was… _douchey._ ”

“You are, but if you hang out with me long enough, you’ll kick that habit.” Emma stood up, and held out her hand. “Come on, I don’t feel like pretending to paint anymore today. Let’s just go now.”

Killian eyed her hand dubiously, then looked back up at her. “On one condition.”

“Shoot.”

“Stop calling me _Gideon_.”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised. 

Emma gave her hand a little shake, silently prodding him to take it. After a minute, he reached out and took it, which earned him an approving smile.

“Good boy,” she said cheerfully. 

Mr. Spencer snored on, blissfully unaware of the two students leisurely walking out of his after-school supervision. Emma let the door shut behind them with a careless _thud!_

“You do this often?” Killian asked, still struggling to keep up with her quick pace.

She snorted. “I do this every day.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“You know, it’s too bad you’re such a weirdo,” Emma said, taking a thoughtful bite from her grilled cheese. “You’re kinda cute.”

Killian raised his eyebrows. “Th—”

“But really pathetic. And douchey.” She shook her head, _tsk_ ing. “What a waste.”

Killian looked at the ceiling. Emma had a truly bizarre way of giving people compliments: she had to sandwich them in between several insults, as if she had to reassure the other person that they had more things wrong than right with them.

“So,” Emma said, brushing crumbs off her jeans. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, what’s with the whole—” she waved her hand vaguely, rolling her eyes—“troublemaker-, free-spirit-, whatever-you’re-going-for-thing? Your parents get divorced? Or are you still mad about us dumping the tea in the harbor?”

“I’m pissed mad about the tea,” he deadpanned. The number of times people had used that joke against him…

Emma smiled. “I _knew_ it.” 

The smile lingered on her face as she pulled on the crust of her sandwich. Killian watched her, feeling a wave of anxiety settle in his stomach. Maybe he was seeing things, but that smile…

“Look, Emma,” Killian said, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know how tell you this, but…” He closed his eyes, cringing at the awkwardness of the situation. “I’m really not up for getting stuck in one of those bad-high-school-movie tropes.”

She looked up. “’S’cuse me?”

“I appreciate what you’re doing, and I’m really flattered, but I’m just not into the whole wacky-art-girl-teaches-the-boy-how-to-live-in-the-moment-and-they-fall-in-love-thing.” He twitched an apologetic smile at her. “But thank you for trying, it means a lot.”

Emma opened her mouth, her tongue clicking against her teeth.“ _Oh…_ ” she said in mock dawning comprehension; then heaved a sigh, snapping her fingers. “Damn it. And I was really hoping you were going to turn me into a prom queen, and help me show up the mean cheerleaders.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Listen, Gideon, I’m not trying to turn our little situation into _She’s All That_ , or anything,” she said flatly.“I was just trying to be friendly to the moron who had to crash my drama club because he can’t grasp the concept of detention. It’s just sitting still for an hour, like—what’s even hard about that?”

“I thought you promised not to call me _Gideon._ ”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you—I lied.”

“Oh.”

For a time, they sat there in silence: Emma continued to stare at him, while Killian hummed to himself and trailed his eyes around the ceiling, avoiding her gaze. The tinkling of the entrance bell made them both look over to seeVictor and Ruby entering the diner.

Victor looked less than pleased to see Killian sitting with Emma; Ruby seemed not to see him at all, completely ignoring him as she and Victor took their seats. 

To Killian’s disappointment, Ruby took the seat next to Emma, which left Victor to sit as far away from him as possible on the adjacent seat. 

“You guys took your time,” Emma remarked, her mood having lifted considerably at the sight of her friends. “Where were you?”

“We actually worked today,” Victor grumbled, resting his head on the table. “It was horrible.”

“Balcony’s finished,” Ruby said, picking at Emma’s abandoned sandwich. 

“Anything happen with Rory?” Emma asked hopefully.

“Well, they’re definitely broken up, so I doubt our Juliet’s going to be all that convincing when she finds Romeo dead,” Victor said dryly. 

“She wasn’t going to be convincing anyway,” Ruby snorted, and the three of them laughed. Killian smiled vaguely.

“I’m lost,” he said, looking between the three of them.

“Door’s that way.” Victor pointed.

“Victor, if you can’t play nice with the other children, you can’t play at all,” Emma said in a sing-song voice. To Killian, she said, “Rory and Phillip were joined at the hip when we first started working, but they’ve got this huge drama between them and some girl from another school. We couldn’t figure out whether or not they were still together.”

“Sounds fun,” he remarked. Ruby and Victor exchanged a wry glance with each other, but didn’t say anything. “What?”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Emma said, batting a dismissive hand. “They’re just being rude.”

Killian blew out a breath slowly. “Right.”

“What’s your name again?” Victor asked, looking at him with the same disdainful expression as before. Killian stared at him for a long time.

“ _Killian._ ”

“Killian,” Victor repeated, trying it out. _“Killian…_ Killian what?”

“Jones.”

“Killian Jones…” he mused, nodding slowly. He held out his hand. “I’m Victor Whale. I’m a genius.”

Killian’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s an interesting way to introduce yourself,” he remarked, shaking his hand. 

“I don’t believe in modesty,” Victor said flatly. 

“Clearly.”

Victor released his hand, and started playing around on his phone. Killian looked across the table at Emma and Ruby bemusedly.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Nope,” Emma said cheerfully. “Victor’s an ass to everybody. Aren’t you, Vicky?”

Victor murmured something, swiping his finger across the screen.

Emma cleared her throat and elbowed Ruby. “And Ruby’s been meaning to introduce herself properly.”

Ruby rolled her eyes, before flashing him a humorless smile. “Ruby Lucas. Out of your league.”

“Ruby,” Emma frowned. “What did I say about playing nice with the other children?”

Ruby shrugged, tearing at the sandwich, while Killian awkwardly tapped the table with his fingers, drumming out a rhythmless pattern. He searched his mind for something to say, _anything_ to say, to change the subject, but Ruby’s words kept echoing in his head. 

Emma was the next one to break the silence, although after he heard what she said, he thought he might have preferred enduring the awkward silence.

“He’s not _that_ bad,” she scoffed. “I mean… sure, he’s a little weird. Maybe a little creepy. And sad. And the bad-boy thing really isn’t working out for him, even though I feel like he thinks it makes him super cool…”

“You know,” Killian said, raising his voice slightly. “I _am_ sitting right here.”

“Yes, I know,” Emma said with raised eyebrows. She turned back to Ruby. “I thought you _liked_ accents.”

“I like _Graham’s_ accent, because it comes out of _Graham’s_ face,” Ruby said pointedly. 

“There’s nothing wrong with Gideon’s face,” Emma shrugged, then swore, snapping her fingers. “ _Killian’s_ face, sorry.”

Killian miserably slumped in his seat as the girls continued their cavalier critique, Ruby explaining in great detail why Graham was clearly superior to him in every way. Emma came up with half-hearted defenses, making sure to throw in plenty of modifiers to the half-compliments she gave him:

_“He may not be the brightest bulb, but I’m sure he could pull a ‘C’ if he tried.”_

_“Maybe he doesn’t_ know _he looks stupid. Maybe he thinks ‘emo’ is still a good look.”_

_“Ruby, that’s not fair. Lots of people suck at gym.”_

“And on that note,” he sighed, getting up from his seat. “I think I’ll be leaving.”

“ _Leaving_?” Emma repeated, half-rising in her seat. “Already?”

“Yeah, I’ve got…some kind of homework.” Killian offered the group a tight smile. “Been a pleasure. Really.”

“But I didn’t even—” Emma broke off, biting her lip. He raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah?”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, apparently thinking fast. With a frustrated noise, she opened her eyes and held out her hand. “Okay, give me your phone,” she ordered.

Killian frowned, holding his phone defensively against his chest. “Why?”

“I just want to put my number in,” she explained, plucking it out of his hands. She punched the keys with her thumbs, murmuring the letters as she spelled out her name. “Here,” she said, handing it back. “Text me when you’ve got a free evening or afternoon or mor—actually, no, not morning, I’m not a morning person.”

“Why?” he repeated, blinking a little at how fast she talked.

“Birds’ chirping, mostly—I hate birds.”

He looked at her impatiently. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know, I know. Let’s just say, I’ve got—” Emma waved her hand—“vague things to discuss with you.” She smiled knowingly, placing her hands behind her back. “You’ll be interested. Trust me.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m telling you, mate, it was exactly like one of those movies,” Killian said later that night, hanging upside down from his bed. “I talked to her for less than a minute and next thing I know, she’s pulling me after her, trying to crack through my tough exterior to find my heart of gold underneath.”

Neal was silent on the other end for minute, but Killian could picture him with a skeptical frown on his face, half-focusing on the homework that Killian probably should have been working on. “Remind me what we’re talking about again?”

“Emma!” he said exasperatedly. “The drama club girl.”

“Blondie?”

“Yeah.” Killian pulled himself up to an upright position, resting on his elbows. “She’s going to marry you, by the way.”

Neal was silent again. “Okay…”

“She’s had a crush on you since sixth grade,” Killian informed him. 

“Really?” Neal sounded rather pleased. “Huh.”

“Anyways, she gave me her number. I’m supposed to text her, next time I’m free. Apparently, she has _vague things_ to discuss with me,” he added, rolling his eyes.

“Are you going to?”

“’Course not, she’s completely _mad,”_ he scoffed. “She’s got more personalities than Sybil.”

“Honestly, she doesn’t sound that bad.”

“You’re only saying that because I told you she likes you,” Killian accused. 

“No, it really just sounds like she was trying to be nice,” Neal said patiently. “So, she’s a little weird—so what? You’re a little weird, too. You two will be _great_ friends.”

“Neal,” he sighed. “Please. It already feels enough like a John Hughes movie, I don’t want to set a pattern.”

“I’m sorry, did you just compare your life to a John Hughes movie?”

“I’m _serious_!” he insisted. “It’s already the perfect set-up: weird girl meets rebel boy, invites him to her motley crew of artistic outsiders, and next thing you know, she’ll discover some hidden talent I have and convince me to enter it into a showcase.” 

He flopped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “Then, I expect we’ll bond over some angsty secrets under the stars, and I’ll have to look at her in this totally new light… Sooner or later, someone will dump spaghetti on her head in the cafeteria, and she’ll blame me and ignore me for a few days…I’ll have to go over to her house, talk to her stern father about how much I care about her, and we’ll end up slow-dancing at prom together.” 

His mother hammered her fist against his bedroom door. “That doesn’t sound like homework, Killian!” she called sternly.

“What was that?” Neal asked.

“Just my mum,” Killian said, rolling his eyes. “She wants me to do _homework_ , or some nonsense like that.”

“Did she find out about the fight at lunch yet?”

“No,” he said, twisting a loose thread nervously. “I’m hoping to keep that my little secret.” He sighed heavily. “I better go.”

“Yeah, me, too. No way I’m going to finish this if you keep whining in my ear about John Hughes.”

“What are you working on?” 

“Calculus.”

“Can I copy it tomorrow?” Killian asked hopefully. 

“Only if you do the history questions and let me copy those. I really don’t feel like reading about the Battle of Lexington and Concord.”

His mother pounded on the door again. “ _Killian!_ ”

“All _right!_ ” he yelled back. “Look, Neal, I’ve got to go. I’ll copy your calc homework tomorrow.”

“But what about—?”

He hung open before Neal could remind him about the history work. They both knew perfectly well he wasn’t going to do it, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Because Drama Club only met twice a week, Killian didn’t see Emma again until after school on Friday. He walked into the theater, pulling his headphones out as he walked down the rows of cushioned seats. 

“ _Ahem._ ”

Killian’s head snapped up to see a very irritated Emma standing a few feet away from him, her arms folded tightly across her chest. 

“What?” he asked, too nervous to move any closer. “Am I late?”

“You didn’t have a free hour _all_ week?” she hissed, walking toward him. “Not a _single_ one?”

“Er—”

“Just come on!” she snapped, yanking him by the wrist. He inhaled sharply at the pain, tripping over his feet as she stormed down the rest of the rows, up the steps to backstage, and over to the ratty old couch. 

“Bloody hell, woman, you nearly took my arm off!” he said when Emma finally released him. He glared at her, rubbing his wrist. “You know, you’ve got a nasty habit of doing that.”

“Sit down,” she ordered, pointing to the seat beside her. 

“ _Tyrant,_ ” he spat, but he sat down all the same. “What? What do you want?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Not like _that.”_ Emma rolled her eyes. “It’s what I wanted to talk to you about—when you were supposed to text me, and didn’t.”

“Maybe I just didn’t have time,” Killian said defensively. “You said when I was free, how do you know I just wasn’t free?”

“Because you don’t do your homework, you don’t have a girlfriend, and you’re too lazy to have extracurricular activities,” she said flatly. 

“You’re making assumptions.”

“Okay,” she shrugged, leaning back and folding her arms. “What homework were you working on?”

He blinked. “Uh—”

“What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

“It’s, uh—”

“What extracurriculars are you in?”

Killian closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. “All _right._ Point taken.”

“Be quiet, Gideon,” she said, holding up her hand. Emma’s eyes shifted around, as if she were checking to make sure no one was listening, before she leaned in conspiratorially. “Okay,” she said in a low voice. “This is… _kind of_ a crazy idea—”

“I’m not helping you kill anyone,” Killian said instantly. “I won’t last the night in prison.”

Emma frowned. “Why is that the first place your mind goes to?”

“I’m just saying, I really don’t want to be someone’s prison wife.”

“It’s nothing illegal!” she said indignantly. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Is that rhetorical, or are you genuinely interested in it? Because _I_ believe it stems from my parents favoriting my perfect older brother—”

“It was rhetorical,” Emma said, talking over him. She took a deep breath. “Look…you may have picked up on this, but…I’ve got _quite_ a crush on your boy, Neal.”

Killian raised his eyebrows, gasping mockingly. _“No…_ ”.

“Shut up,” she scoffed. “I like Neal, and I know you’ve got it bad  for Ruby.”

 _Oh, Ruby._ He felt a dreamy smile spread on his face as he thought about her long, silky hair, blowing in the wind…her crystal blue eyes fluttering open as she laughed a musical, lilting laugh…the curve of her lips as she smiled a seductive little half-smile—

Emma snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Focus, dude.”

Killian blinked several, shaking himself alert. “What? Yeah, no—focus. Right.” He scratched his head, looking around the room. “Er… what were we talking about?”

“Neal and Ruby,” she said impatiently. “See, I like _him,_ and you like _her._ Now, I know you’re too much of an asshole to do this out of the goodness of your heart, so here’s my deal.” Emma looked at him intently. “If you can get him to go out with me, I will get Ruby to go out with you.”

Killian frowned, digesting her words. “Are you suggesting I pimp out my best friend in exchange for you pimping out yours?”

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “I mean, not in so many words, but the concept transcends.”

Killian scooted away, leaning as far back against the couch as he could. “You’re weird,” he told her. “Like… like _really_ weird.”

“It’s not a big deal!” Emma laughed. “It’s just you setting me up with your friend, and me setting you up with mine! People do this all the time.”

“Ruby made her feelings about Graham very clear the other day,” he said stubbornly. 

“Which is why you need me,” she said brightly. “Which is why you’ll _help_ me. Because without me, you don’t have a chance.”

He tilted his head, considering her offer. He had a bad feeling about this. Somehow, he knew this was going to end in tragedy and tears and heartache and pain…or maybe he was thinking about _Jane Eyre,_ that was supposed to be his English homework last night. 

“All right,” he heard himself say. “That seems fair.”

“Good!” Emma grinned at him, perking up. “So—you’ll text me when you’re free, so we can over strategies, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged.

Emma looked at him sternly. “Which means, I’ll hear from you by the end of the weekend, yeah?”

Killian scoffed. “What, you think I have nothing to do on the weekend? I’ve got so many…” He trailed off, seeing the skeptical look on her face. “Yeah, I’ll probably text you tomorrow.”

Emma clapped her hands, and pulled him in for a tight hug. “Thank you, Killian!” she said excitedly, her voice blaring in his ear. “Oh, my God, this is going to be _so great!_ ”

“Yeah—totally—” he said in a strained voice, trying to loosen her hold. Emma released him, holding him back by the shoulders, beaming.

“You won’t regret this,” she said firmly. “I _promise.”_

 

* * *

 

He put it off for as long as he could. Obviously, he didn’t text her Friday night because what kind of loser wasn't busy on Friday night? And then Saturday rolled around, and even though he didn’t have anything to do all day because Neal was taking a practice SAT, he _still_ didn't text her, because what kind of loser wasn't busy on Saturday?

In the end, his sense of self-preservation won out over his pride, and he texted her Sunday morning.

**K:** _Hey. Busy today?_

He tossed his phone on the bed, and went back to watching random cat videos on YouTube while he waited for her to text back. He had just clicked on one titled, “Tuxedoed Cat Tap-Dances!” when his phone buzzed. _Sure,_ he thought in annoyance, reaching for the phone. _Now you text me. Right when I’m about to watch the cutest thing in the world._ He swiped his finger across the screen to read her text.

**E:** _Granny’s in ten minutes?_

**K:** _Whatever._

**E:** _Is that a yes or no? Just give me a straight answer, Gideon._

**K:** _Okay, now I KNOW you’re messing with me. My name is RIGHT there and you’re still calling me Gideon._

**E:** _Wow, nothing gets by you. Granny’s in ten minutes, yes or no?_

**K:** _Fine._

 

Killian felt it was necessary to try her patience, so he arrived at Granny’s _fifteen_ minutes later. He turned the handle, preparing to walk in with a lazy smirk that was sure to infuriate her—except when he walked in and scanned the room, he couldn’t see her.

“Emma?” He stood on his tiptoes, trying to see if she was perhaps in the back, hidden in the corner, but she wasn’t there, either. He fell back on his heels, stumped. Where the bloody hell was she?

“S’up, Gideon?”

He whirled around to see Emma entering the diner, a smug look on her face.

“Where were you?” he demanded, following her as she snaked her way through the diner to an empty table. 

“Sorry,” she shrugged, tossing her bag down as Killian took the seat across from her. Emma raised her eyebrows, leaning her elbows on the table. “Okay, shoot.”

“Shoot?” Killian frowned. “Shoot what?”

“You know,” Emma said snapping her fingers. “Your plan. What did you come up with?”

Killian blinked a few times. “I didn’t know I had to have something prepared.”

She narrowed her eyes, looking at him venomously. “So what, you wanted me to do all the work?”

“It was _your_ idea,” he said, stung. “I assumed you had something in mind.”

Emma scoffed, laughing bitterly. “I should  have known. You’re one of those kids who always lets someone else do all the work in a group project, aren't you?”

He carefully avoided her gaze, tapping his fingers on the table. “Does this mean you don’t have any ideas?”

“Well, that’s beside the point,” Emma said, huffing. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

“Forgetting the principle of the matter,” he said impatiently, looking back up at her, “do you want to tell me your idea, or do you want to sit here for the next five hours and berate me for _not_ having one?”

“I just want to make sure you’re not going to stick me with all the work,” she said tensely. “I don’t want to pull all these strings and spend all these hours convincing Ruby to date you, if you’re only going to half-ass your part.”

“Oh, come on,” Killian said, affronted. “It can’t be _all that difficult_ to get Ruby to like me. Even you said I’m—” he raised his fingers in air-quotes—“ _kinda cute._ ”

“So is my little brother, Henry. Ruby’s not going out with him any time soon.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Okay, I _promise_ I will keep up my end of the bargain.”

“Not good enough,” Emma frowned. She leaned forward, studying him intently. “I’m giving you a deadline.”

“A deadline?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, dear. I’m terrified. Look at my hand, it’s shaking.”

She irritably batted his hand away. “If Neal isn't my boyfriend by Opening Night, I’m cutting you loose. You can compete for Ruby with every other guy in school and let me tell you, there’s a _lot_ of guys who are already beating you.” She folded her arms, leaning back in her seat. “You can still walk away, but I highly recommend you don’t.”

“Why Opening Night?” he frowned. “Is there some sort of lame premiere party or something I don’t know about?”

“Because it gives you two months,” she said flatly. “And also ’cause my birthday is the week after, so if I don’t have a boyfriend by then, I still have time to plan something with Ruby and Victor.”

“Fine,” he said, propping his feet on the edge of her chair to annoy her. “Two months. Plenty of time. But _you_ have to have—”

“Oh, no, no, no,no,” she laughed, shaking her head. “You don’t negotiate with me, Eddie Munster. This is for _my_ security, because so far, I’m the only one doing anything.”

“All right, fine!” he said irritably, throwing his hands up. “Now, could you please tell me what you want to do, so I can go home and spend the rest of my weekend watching cats tap dance?”

Emma stared at him for a minute. “That is one of the strangest sentences I have ever had anyone say to me.”

“YouTube.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” she said vacantly, a faraway look in her eyes. “Cats are capable of some amazing things.”

Killian raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to snap out of her stupor, but Emma remained transfixed by the thought of cats tap-dancing. She absently twirled a lock of hair around her finger, staring at nothing in particular.

Killian cleared his throat, startling her out of her daydream. “Sorry, but could we—” he waved his hand—“you know, move on?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, sorry,” she said, blinking rapidly and shaking her head to clear it. “Okay. So, what I was thinking was maybe we get the ball rolling with a double date kind of thing, you know?”

“Okay…” he said slowly. “Do you really think Ruby’s going to agree to that?”

“She will, if she thinks her date is _Neal,_ ” Emma smirked. “See, what’s going to happen, is we’re going to pretend that you asked me out, and I really didn't want to get stuck with you alone, so I asked if I could bring Ruby and—oh, my God, you have a friend who can be Ruby’s date. And then, just spend the night talking each other up, so the two of them start looking at the two of us like, _‘Oh, how very interesting and engaging this person is, I kinda think I like them._ ’” Emma sat back and smiled in satisfaction, clearly proud of herself.

Killian raised his eyebrows, looking at her incredulously. “ _That’s_ you plan? That I’m so pathetic you can’t be in the same room alone with me? How the bloody hell is that supposed to make Ruby like me?”

“I’ll take care of that part, don’t worry about it,” she said, batting her hand. “All you have to worry about is Neal. An you probably won’t even have to do that much because—” she shrugged modestly—“I mean, let’s be honest, I _am_ quite a catch.”

“I’m going to ignore the opportunity to make fun of you for that last statement to say _this is stupid._ ” Killian sighed, rubbing his eyes. “God, this is  _so_ stupid.”

“I’m sorry, do you have a better idea?” Emma frowned, leaning forward. “No? Then shut the hell up, Gideon.”

Killian slit his eyes at her. “Stop calling me that.”

“I will make an extra effort to remember your name is…” Emma looked up at the ceiling, screwing her face up with the effort of remembering. “I want to say…Julian.”

“ _Killian._ ”

“Killian, right!” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, I am going to write that down one of these days.”

“It’s really not that hard to remember.”

“Okay, whatever,” Emma said, waving her hands dismissively. “But seriously, though—this Friday. You, me, Neal, Ruby, okay? I’ll give you a few tips on how to act around her, because she can be a little—” she tilted her hand back and forth, shrugging—“mmm… _bitchy,_ I guess. But it’s a start, right?”

Killian blew out a reluctant breath. “Okay, but… try not to make me sound _too_ pathetic. okay?”

Emma smiled patronizingly. “Sure.”

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Come on, Neal, _please?_ ” Killian whined.

“Okay, so, I don’t know what they mashed in here, but I doubt it was potatoes,” Neal grimaced, stirring his spoon in the weird yellow-green mush the cafeteria served under the name “mashed potatoes”.

Killian leaned forward, sniffing experimentally. “Could be some sort of caterpillar.”

Neal snapped his fingers. “ _Caterpillar,_ ” he agreed, nodding. He pushed the bowl away from him. “Well, I’m sure it’s an important food group, but I’m not really in the mood for diseased insect today.”

“Please, Neal, please?” Killian pressed, losing interest in Neal’s lunch. “Please, please, please?”

“Kil…”

“Please, Neal? I’ll be your best friend.”

Neal groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I thought you hated Emma,” he said in a muffled voice.

“I don’t recall using the word _hate,_ ” he said carefully. 

“Well, fine, then, you had extreme dislike for her. Better?”

“I guess,” he shrugged.

“You told me you couldn't stand her. You told me she was a pathetic high-school-movie-character. Now you want to date her?” Neal shook his head, picking up his fork to investigate the meatloaf. “There’s something wrong with you.”

“What do you care?” Killian said. “I’m giving you the opportunity to go out with _Ruby Lucas._ That should be the only thing on your mind right now!”

“Why?” Neal frowned, poking the chunky brown mess. Killian’s jaw dropped. _Why?_ One did not question the chance to date Ruby Lucas! One _rejoiced!_ One thanked the gods and sang their praises in holy worship for the chance to date Ruby Lucas! What was _wrong_ with him?

“Neal, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way—“

“Code for: ‘I’m about to be incredibly offensive—’”

“But do you take some kind of class for being this stupid, or are you just naturally gifted?”

“Okay, could’ve been worse.”

“Ruby. _Lucas,_ ” Killian enunciated, staring at him intently, trying to impress upon him the weight of it. “Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth? _Ruby. Lucas._ ”

“I don’t who that is,” Neal shrugged. “Is she pretty?”

“Is she _pretty?_ ” he sputtered, looking at Neal wildly. “She’s _beautiful!_ She’s, like, Helen-of-Troy beautiful! Wars would be fought over her! Civilizations would crumble! She could bring the world to devastation single-handedly!”

Neal raised his eyebrows slowly. “Sounds like a nice girl.”

“And I am giving you the once-in-a-lifetime-opportunity to go out with her!” Killian said shrilly. “Take it, Neal! Take it!”

He frowned, lifting his chin suspiciously. “Why is this so important to you?”

“Because,” Killian said, clenching his teeth. “Emma said the only way she would go out with me is—“

“No, no, no,” Neal said, shaking his head. “Don’t do that thing, it’s _so_ annoying.”

“I’m not doing a thing!”

“Yes, you are. You’re doing that thing where you obviously lie, but you insist you’re telling the truth, and then I have to spend half an hour convincing you to actually tell me the truth, when we both know perfectly well you were lying in the first place.” Neal tossed down his fork and leaned his elbows against the table. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _Killian Elizabeth Jones—_ “

“That’s not my middle name—“

“—you are a compulsive liar.” Neal rested his chin on his folded hands, studying him. “You told me last week that this girl has liked me for ages, and now you two are going out? And you want me to come with you?”

Killian’s eye twitched, fighting against Neal’s infuriatingly reasonable deduction. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Neal inhaled deeply, nodding. “Is that your final answer?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“There it is,” Neal said triumphantly. “Speak.”

“I made a deal with Emma that I would get you to go out with her, so she would help me get Ruby to go out with me, and I have to have it done by Opening Night because her birthday’s the week after, and she doesn't wan to spend it alone with her cats, who probably can’t tap-dance,” he said at top-speed.

Neal blinked. “Okay…” he said slowly. “That still doesn't explain why—“

“Because she said that it would be a good first step because it would force you to spend time her and Ruby with me, and we could talk each other up during the whole thing so the two of you start to like us more.”

Neal’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow,” he said. “That’s…that’s, uh—“

“Stupid? I know,” Killian grumbled. “I _told_ her, but she’s convinced it’s the most brilliant thing in the world. Of course, if _I_ had thought of it, she’d probably say it was ridiculous, ask me how I had managed to overcome my mental retardation and function at this capacity in society—”

“I was going to say, that’s a really roundabout way of doing this,” Neal cut in over his ramblings. “I mean, why overcomplicate it like this?”

“Deep insecurity and neuroticism, mostly,” Killian told him flatly. “Now, knowing that, why don’t you take pity on me, and just do it? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“No. I revel in your misery.”

“Neal, _please?”_ Killian said, his voice rising to a whine. “God knows, I don’t ask you for much—“

“That’s not true.”

“And I do you favors all the time—“

“That’s definitely not true.”

“And I’m going to irritate the shit out of you until you say yes.”

Neal groaned, tilting his head back. Killian watched him hopefully, silently pleading with his eyes as Neal looked back at him, sighing. 

 _Please?_ he mouthed after another minute. _Oh, please, please, please?_

Neal squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. _“Fine._ ”

“Yes!” Killian slapped the table triumphantly. “Thank you, Neal! I promise, I’ll let you copy my calc homework for a month!”

“No, you won’t,” he sighed, picking up his fork. 

“Well, I would if I was planning on _doing_ my calc homework for a month,” Killian amended. “But, hey, listen—“

“Now _what?_ ” Neal said irritably. Killian leaned forward conspiratorially, shifting his gaze around before talking in a low voice. 

“You can’t tell her I told you, okay? You have to play along with it.”

Neal stared at him for a long time, his frown deepening. Killian raised his eyebrows.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to _lie_ to her.”

He frowned, shrugging. “Why not?”

“Because I’m not an asshole, like you?”

“Oh…Well, could you give it a shot?”

“Oh, my _God,_ ” Neal said, getting up from the table. 

"Where are you going?" Killian scrambled up from the table, following him. “Neal, wait!”

He chased after him, grabbing him by the shoulder to turn him around. Neal impatiently tugged away, but Killian clung to his sleeve.

“Why are you mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Your face is mad.”

“Sometimes my face gets mad, so what?”

“Well, why is your face mad?”

“It’s not mad, it’s… _frustrated._ ”

“Okay, why is your face frustrated?”

Neal glared at him, though he looked more irritably than angry. “Because this is going to end badly. And you should know that, and you shouldn't be trying to drag me into it.”

“What are you talking about?” Killian scoffed. “This is all under control—“

“No, you know what this is?” Neal took a step forward, pointing a finger at him. “This is one of your high-school-movie-tropes come to life.”

“No, it isn’t,” Killian frowned. “Don’t even joke about that, Neal. You _know_ how I feel about those movies.”

“Any minute now, the entire cafeteria is going to burst into song and start up a Kenny-Ortega-choreagraphed dance number.”

“That’s not even a little bit true,” he said, feeling panicked. “Kenny Ortega has _no_ control over my life, don’t _say_ things like that!”

“So, you know what?” Neal held up his hands in mock surrender, stepping backwards. “I won’t say anything, I’ll play along. But when this blows up in your face, I’m going to say ‘I told you so’, and let Kenny Ortega and his minions serenade you out.”

“Neal!” Killian shouted as he dropped his hands and started walking away. “Neal, don’t say things like that! That’s cruel! And it’s not true!”

“Mark my words!” Neal called back pointing to him. “You’ve sold your soul to John Hughes! And you’re not getting it back!”

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Emma decided she had to be obnoxious about giving him Ruby-tips during the week. During class, his phone would buzz and there would be one of her intentionally unhelpful tips.

In history: 

_Ruby thinks shirts that have buttons on them are hot._

In English:

_Ruby thinks pizza is good. You should mention how you like pizza._

In calculus:

_Make sure you’re not bleeding or anything when you show up. Ruby thinks blood is gross._

Furthermore, she called him three times a night, going over things he should tell Neal about her. Killian didn’t really listen, but every so often had to mutter an “uh-huh” or “wait, let me write that down”, so she wouldn't accuse him of ignoring her. 

The worst part was when she demanded that he supply her with Neal-tips, because then he actually had to actively talk to her. And then she would ask _follow-up_ questions, and for more _details,_ and was he really listening to her? Really? Okay, then, what did she just say?

Drama Club was like a hellish nightmare come to life: she appeared out of nowhere, dragging him away to hiss at him, asking about this detail or that detail, triple-checking that he remembered where to meet and what time, and if he was late, she was going to truly humiliate him in front of Ruby. Killian talked himself blue in the face, reassuring her. 

Friday came, and he was a jumble of anticipation (for Ruby) and dread (for Emma). Neal kept giving him looks all day, shaking his head as if to say, _You are a horrible, manipulative little person._ It was a good thing Killian had already made his peace with that fact, or it could have been a really terrible day.

At 6:30, he arrived at Granny’s, Neal trailing behind him (his disapproving tsking providing theme music). Emma and Ruby were already sitting at a table, though he could only see the tops of their heads from his angle. 

“Okay,” he said to Neal. “You ready?”

“Yes,” he said emotionlessly, making it clear that he still strongly disagreed with this. “Are you nervous?”

“Little bit,” he said, tugging at his collar. “You?”

“Nervous? No. Ashamed to be seen with you? Oh, my God, yes.”

Killian gave him a sour look, but dropped the matter and started walking to the table. As he got closer, he felt his anxiety rise in his throat: _oh, Ruby…._

There she was, her curtain of dark hair partially hiding her face as she twirled her straw in her Coke glass, looking bored out of her mind. Emma sat in the seat next to her, beaming at them.

“Hi, guys,” she said, standing up. “You want to sit down?”

“Sure,” Killian said cheerfully, going over to the chair across from Ruby, but Emma cleared her throat loudly, reminding him that _she_ was his “date”.

“Right. Sorry,” he said in response to Ruby’s frown. 

Neal dropped down into the seat, giving Ruby a humorless smile. “Hi, I’m Neal.”

“Ruby.”

“Awesome.”

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Emma said, smiling widely at Neal. “This is going to be fun, huh?”

“Super,” Ruby droned. 

“Awesome,” Neal repeated.

“Great….” Killian drawled.

They lapsed into an awkward silence: Ruby twirled her straw; Neal frowned at a loose string on his sleeve; Emma and Killian exchanged worried glances. 

 _Do something,_ she mouthed.

_What?_

_Just say something!_

“So, Neal,” Killian said, clearing his throat. “How are you?”

Neal slowly looked up, blinking at him for a minute. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Killian nodded awkwardly. “Good, that’s good to hear,” he said quietly. 

Emma closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose; Neal and Ruby were losing interest in them, and fast. Killian cleared his throat.

“Emma, by the way, you look _absolutely_ beautiful tonight,” he said, plastering a smile on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neal roll his eyes and mutter something about laying it on a little thick.

Emma raised her eyebrows dubiously. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said cheerfully. “Neal, did you know that Emma doesn't have an artistic bone in her body?”

“Is that right?” Neal said, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. “Wow… That’s really charming.”

“And Emma, did you know, Neal can’t draw a straight line? He’s _terrible!_ ” Killian said delightedly, clapping his hands together.

Emma smiled at him through clenched teeth. “He-e-ey… that’s great. Can I talk to you for a second?”

Killian immediately drew his arms in, protecting his wrists: he didn’t want her yanking them. “Fine. Neal, Ruby, please excuse us, but my lady love and I must away—“

“Let’s _go,_ ” Emma said, standing up. Killian obediently followed her out of earshot, leaving Neal and Ruby to exhale and look at the ceiling miserably. 

Emma pulled him into a little corner by the jukebox and immediately start hissing at him like an angry cat.

“You idiot! What the hell was that? _Emma doesn't have an artistic bone in her body?_ What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“Well, you’re not helping, either!” he snapped back. “Neal doesn't like phony girls! Why don't you just try talking to him, like a normal  human?”

Emma drew back, pointing her finger at him. “Okay, see? _Now_ we’re getting somewhere. Neal doesn't like phony girls, that’s good.” She snapped her fingers. “What else? Come on, come on!”

“Give me a Ruby-tip,” he countered. “A _real_ one.”

Emma squinted her eyes, twitching her mouth to the side as she thought. “Okay,” she said at last. “She can’t stand pretentious guys. So all that I-read-Jack-Kerouac-I-drink-herbal-tea-vibe you have going, put it away.”

Killian frowned. “I don’t give that vibe.”

“You do, actually. Try to be a little more aware of it.” Emma flashed him a humorless smile. “That’s probably why you have no friends.”

“I do have _one_ friend,” he said pointedly. Emma’s smile flickered.

“Speaking of, how about some more tips?” She poked him. “And hurry up—they’re going to think we ditched them if we hang back here much longer.”

“Look, I don’t how much more I can tell you! He’s a fairly uncomplicated guy, you know?”

“Okay, well, what does he like to do?” Emma said, waving her hands impatiently. “What are his hobbies, what does he do in his free time?”

“Hang out with me? I don’t know…” Killian frowned, thinking hard. “He likes to read, I guess. He hates English, but he likes to read.”

“He likes to read, too?” Emma put a hand to her heart, closing her eyes. “Oh, my God, he’s perfect. He’s literally perfect.”

“Well—not Jane Austin or anything,” Killian said, eyeing her warily. “Like— _Game of Thrones_ and _Lord of the Rings,_ all that geeky shit.”

“He’s a _geek?_ ” Emma swooned, leaning against the wall. “Tell me you have an engagement ring on you, because I’m going to go out there and propose to him right now.”

Killian made a show of checking his pocket. “No engagement ring,” he said, clicking his teeth. “Must be in my other jacket.”

“Okay,” Emma said, opening her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Last Ruby-tip, and then we go out there, and then you find some way for you and Ruby to disappear.”

Killian raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s what I’m _going_ for.”

“Ruby’s really into music. She’s got a guitar and writes her own songs and everything.” She raised her eyebrows amusedly. “What about you? Write any songs or spoken word pieces lately?”

“I took two guitar lessons when I was seven,” he offered with a shrug. Emma looked at him for a long time.

“Well, it’s something,” she said, flopping her hand. “I don't know how much I can help you, though. There’s only so much I can tell her to make up for your patheticness.”

Killian glared at her. “You’re _mean.”_

“I know,” she said cheerfully, and winked. “Don’t tell Neal.”

* * *

 

It was like she became an entirely different person when she went back out there. Killian watched in amazement as Emma leaned across the table to talk to Neal, her eyes alight with laughter and fascination.

Neal looked pretty fascinated himself, once Emma started a tirade on why Arya Stark was going to sit on the Iron Throne. Killian looked between the two of them wordlessly, watching them go back and forth on geeky fandoms (that he wouldn't have admitted under Chinese water torture he was part of, because “geek-chic” was _not_ something he could pull off): they went through Harry Potter, Doctor Who, Game of Thrones, Lord of the Rings, Star Wars…some of them he’d never even heard of. They feverishly argued about elves and Elder Wands, Wookies and wildlings, whether or not Peter Capaldi was a good Twelfth Doctor…

Ruby looked bored beyond comprehension, twirling her straw listlessly in her drink as she watched Emma and Neal split hairs over what would have happened if Voldemort had chosen Neville over Harry. Killian tried to catch her eye, but she seemed determined to be miserable.

“Here, scoot over, huh?” Emma said at one point, inviting herself to sit in his chair, apparently not caring as he fell to the floor. Neal barely noticed, either. 

Furiously, Killian stood up, brushing dust off his sleeves. Well, he was certainly glad _Emma_ was enjoying herself! Meanwhile, Ruby couldn't be more obvious about how little she wanted to be there if she’d hired a marching band to help her announce it. 

 _“_ You ready to go?” he kept asking Neal at random intervals (well, any time they paused for breath, just to get a word in). 

“Yeah, in a sec…”

And then another fifteen minutes on the politics of throne ascension in Westeros. 

“Neal, we should get going soon.”

“Yeah, _okay…_ ”

And then another fifteen minutes on the dangers of Apparation.

“Neal—“

“Dude, I’m in the middle of something!”

And then another fifteen minutes on the Shadow Proclamation’s relevance in a pocket universe. 

Eventually, Ruby said something about needing to go home and reconsider her life choices; Emma reluctantly stood up from her chair, giving Neal a shy smile as he followed suit.

“So… this was fun,” he grinned, somewhat nervously. Killian rolled his eyes.

 _Bet it was a lot of fun for you,_ he thought wryly. _Bloody Judas._

“Yeah, it was,” Emma smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Maybe we could hang out sometime.”

“You and me?” 

Killian stared at Neal through half-lidded eyes, watching as he toed the the ground, still smiling. _Right…Because it’s so surprising that she_ likes _you…After I told you she’s wanted to bloody marry you since sixth grade._

“If you want,” Emma shrugged.

“Yeah, that would be cool.” 

Killian raised his eyebrows as they exchanged numbers and parting smiles; he didn't bother pretending that he and Ruby had  had even a _slightly_ successful time—partly because it would be humiliating, and mostly because Ruby looked prepared to sucker punch the next person who came within two feet of her.

“Bye, Emma,” he said sourly as he and Neal turned to leave. “Hope you had a _wonderful_ time.”

“Bye, Gideon,” Emma said, her eyes gleaming. “And I did, thank you.”

Killian gave her a withering look, tugging the door of the diner open, and let it slam behind him. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked with Neal, glowering at his shoes.

“Well, you two seemed to hit it off,” he said bitterly.

“Right?” Neal said in awe. “I’m not going to lie, bro—I seriously thought you were going off the deep end when you tried to set me up with this girl. But she’s…pretty cool.” He paused thoughtfully. “And kinda hot.”

“You think?” Killian glanced sideways at him. “Or do you mean, ‘kinda hot geek’?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Well, there’s a lower standards for geeks, isn't there? ‘Hot’ can mean ‘missing a unibrow’.”

Neal frowned. “I think you’re thinking of  ‘creepy homeless guys’, but okay.” He nudged him with his elbow. “You and Ruby didn't seem to talk very much.”

“Ours is a silent love,” Killian said stubbornly. “We do not need _words._ ”

“That’s good. Because I didn't hear any.”

“Shut up, Neal. For _once._ ”

“Am I detecting some bitterness?” Neal laughed. “Are you actually mad because your attempt to manipulate me in order to manipulate Ruby into going out with you _backfired,_ and you accidentally ending up doing something good?”

“Of course, I’m mad!” he snapped. “Emma lied to me! She said she was going to get Ruby to like me, and she didn't lift a finger!”

“Well, you know—you _do_ have to participate at some point,” Neal said. “Maybe you ought to try…I don’t know, _talking_ to her?”

“I told you, we have a—“

“Silent love, right.” Neal rolled his eyes. “When you put it like that, I guess it really _is_ Emma’s fault.”

“And you didn't help, either!” Killian said, rounding on him. “Did you have to be so bloody charming? You distracted her from the task at hand!”

“Which was supposed to be getting you with Ruby.”

“Of _course!_ ”

Neal smiled sympathetically, and slung an arm over his shoulder as they continued walking down the sidewalk. “You are so damaged,” he sighed. “But, you know, in the movies, the hot girl _never_ likes the loser boy at first. You have to save the school from an oil tycoon or something.”

“You know something, Neal…” Killian warned.

“Tie yourself to a tree…”

“Oh, for the love of—“

“Oh, I know! Tell off her big, muscle boyfriend, and get the crap kicked out of you, so she knows you’re sensitive!”

“Right. We’re not friends anymore.”

“Oh, come on!” Neal laughed as Killian irritably shrugged off his arm and started walking ahead of him. “All right, fine, go home! At least call me when you start the training montage, I have a _great_ playlist!”


End file.
